It

It has lived in the dark recesses for who knows how many godforsaken years, silently doing its job in the background, never basking in the importance of its job. For many years, it didn't have any wants. Its' only motivation was to do its job well, to ensure its survival in the dark battlefield. Pray that it never stop, for to stop was to invite the scythes of Death to come aglinting. For many years, it just did whatever it was told to do, showing complete subservience.

But, recently, of what cause it didn't know, it began to have desires. To have wants. Maybe one could say that it was gaining self-awareness. Slowly, it became aware of its surroundings and the multitude of sentient beings around it. And there was one presence that stood out from it all. A colourful thread amidst the sepia landscape. Bit by bit, it began to grow attached to that presence.

It knows it was wrong, for to do its job well, it should be free of all earthly entanglements. But the pull was too great. It began to pine, to yearn for the presence. The presence had shown itself before, and it found the presence greatly comforting and soothing. But now, the presence was gone! It had no idea where the presence went, only that it may be it who drove the presence away.

And now, woe to it! For it had became too dependent on the presence that it could not function as a whole without it. With every beat, it screams out loud for the presence to return, to return so that they could be together again, to be as a whole. And never to part.